The Hunter Who Cried April Fool's
by What You See in the Shadows
Summary: Oneshot spanning from weechesters to season eight. April first is a holiday made just for big brothers. And Dean Winchester loves to pull variations of his favorite prank on Sammy whenever he can. But after so many years, will one year change everything and possibly end in disaster for one of the brothers?


_**Author's Note: **Hi everyone! This is a bit of a different type of story for me, but I hope you all like it. Just a little celebration of the beginning of April. Thanls to all who have supported my writing._

**THE**** HUNTER WHO CRIED 'APRIL** **FOOL'S'**

**April 1****st****, 1988**

Nine year old Dean Winchester stood at the counter near the kitchen sink of yet another crappy motel room trying to make dinner for Sammy but his little brother just wouldn't leave him alone. It had already been a sucky day and it was only getting worse as the minutes went by. School had been awful. The class bully had taken full advantage of April fool's day and Dean had ended up with gum in his hair. Then, to make matters worse, _he_ was the one who got sent to the principal's office after punching the jerk. And how was that fair? Dean was the one who had to have the sticky, fruit-scented blob cut out of his hair with scissors and somehow, at the end of the day, _he_ was the one in trouble, not Tommy A-hole Richmond. And now he had to have his dad sign yet another disciplinary note, which was going to get him in even more trouble. And, to top it all off, Sammy was now singing 'It's a Small World' over and over again and not even getting the words close to being right.

"Dude, can you be quiet for just two minutes, Sammy? I gotta finish cooking."

"What'cha making?"

"Fried skunk."

"Ewwww. I don't wanna eat skunk."

"It's a joke, dummy."

"I'm not dumb." Sammy pouted.

"No, just annoying."

"I'm gonna tell Daddy that you're mean."

"Fine, tell 'im. I don't care."

After a moment, Sammy walked up next to him.

"What are you cooking for real?"

Dean sighed. "Ravioli. And I got a loaf of Italian bread."

"I was pascetti sauce on mine."

"Okay, I'll pour spaghetti sauce on your bread."

"Dean, that's not what I meant!" The little boy whined.

Dean smirked. "You're so easy."

"No, I'm not!"

"Sure you are." Dean rolled his eyes and picked up a bread knife to slice the long loaf into pieces. He was just cutting into the bread when Sammy gave him a shove. The knife slipped and cut into his finger. Dean hissed in pain. "Dammit, Sammy! You made me cut myself!"

The little kid backed away from his brother, eyes wide. "Sorry, Dean! I didn't mean to! Is it bad?"

The older boy looked down at his index finger. The cut wasn't bad at all, just dripping a little blood onto the counter. But then an evil thought crossed his mind. He bent his finger down and quickly smeared sauce on his hand. Turning around, he held up his hand with the back facing Sammy so that the boy couldn't see his finger at all.

"My finger's gone, Sammy! You made me cut it off!"

"Ahhh!" The child screamed in horror. "Oh no! Oh, Dean, I'm sorry! What can I do? I'll call a doctor or something!"

Dean laughed hysterically as he straightened out his finger. "April fool's!" He called out, ignoring the pain in his digit and the real blood that still ran down his hand.

Sammy glared at him. "You're a jerk, and I hate you, and I'm telling Dad!"

Dean barely heard his brother's enraged scream over his own laughter.

**April 1****st****, 1993**

Dean Winchester stood outside the door to the motel room with the store bag clutched in his hands. He was hurrying because it had already gotten dark and he knew that a fourteen year old shouldn't linger too long outside in this area. But he had to get this done before going back inside.

The boy pulled a tube of fake blood from the bag and unscrewed the cap. Then he took the plastic trowel that he had also purchased and covered the tines with the sticky red substance. He ran the object across his forehead and down his right cheek. He could feel that only two of the tines were making contact with his skin and leaving a fake bloody trail, but that would work. Dean grinned as he dropped the gardening tool back into the bag along with the tube and threw it into the bushes.

Then he took a deep breath. He'd left the room only an hour ago, but he knew that Sammy would be waiting for him. He wiped the grin off of his face and schooled his features into one of pain and fear. Then he started pounding on the door.

"Sammy! Sammy, it's me! Let me in!"

The door flew open and Dean pushed past his little brother and collapsed onto the floor.

"Dean? What…"

"Close the door! I think I lost it but I can't be sure!"

He heard the door close and lock and then Sammy was approaching. Dean got to his feet and started off towards the bathroom, keeping himself hunched over and making small pained noises.

"Dean, what happened?"

Dean turned to face Sammy. "It was a werewolf, Sammy. It jumped me and I barely got away!"

"Oh, god! Dean! Your face!"

"It got me. Its claws… they… it was too fast!"

"We need to get you to the hospital, Dean! It looks bad."

"No, I'll… I'll be fine. It just… it hurts a lot."

Sammy bit his lower lip. "I'll help you clean it and bandage it. Maybe Dad left some pain killers. And we'll need antibiotics."

Dean had kept a bit of a distance from his brother and stayed to the shadows so that the other boy wouldn't be able to tell that the injury was faked. "I don't think it'll help, Sammy."

"What? Why not?"

"'Cause it's just fake blood, dummy." Dean chuckled as he stepped forwards so that his brother could see the truth. As Sammy's face shifted from scared to pissed, Dean flopped onto the bed. "April fool's!"

"You're a jerk, Dean!"

"And you're a gullible little bitch." Dean laughed.

**April 1****st****, 1996**

Dean reached into the backseat of the Impala and grabbed the plastic bag. He fished out the rag that he'd gotten prepared and then climbed out of the driver's seat. He knew that his little brother would be far too busy with homework to look out the window and see him. The teenager walked to the door of their motel room and then pressed the rag against his head. He felt the cold stickiness of the professional-quality stage blood drip from the pre-soaked cloth and run down the side of his face. The color and consistency of the stuff was good enough to fool anyone. Dean unlocked the door and let himself in. He slammed it shut behind him.

"Oh god, Sammy. Ah… I…"

"Dean!" His little brother jumped up from his spot at the table where he'd been working and rushed over to him. "What happened?"

"The car… I didn't see it… she's wrecked, Sammy. Dad's gonna kill me."

"It can be fixed, Dean. But what about you? You're bleeding really bad."

"Wasn't wearing the belt. Head… hit the steering wheel. Hurt. Oh, god."

"Sit down. Let me take a look." The younger brother ordered, grabbing at the arm Dean was using to hold the cloth.

Dean shrugged him off. "I'll… I'll be fine. I'll get it patched up. But Sammy, the car. She's a mess. Dad's gonna have my ass for this. But the other car… it just came outta nowhere."

"Dean, sit down. I'm sure Dad'll understand." But his voice didn't sound sure at all.

"He's gonna kill me. Should've just died in the crash. Saved him the trouble."

"Don't say that, Dean! It can't be that bad."

"Take a look at the car. Or what's left of it."

"First let me take care of your head wound."

Dean let out a pained-sounding groan. "Please, just… look at the Impala, Sammy. Then I'll let you help me."

"Okay." Sammy grudgingly agreed.

Dean watched as Sammy walked over to the front door and opened it up. He looked outside. When he turned around, he looked confused.

"Dean, it looks fine."

Dean lowered the rag and grinned. "April fool's!"

"You're such a jerk, Dean!"

"Whatever, bitch." Dean choked out between his laughter.

**April 1****st****, 2001**

Dean lay back on the motel bed and groaned. It had been a really bad day. He and Dad had finished up what was supposed to be a simple job but turned out to be anything but. Now he was exhausted. Dean looked at the clock. 11:43pm. The day was almost over. And not a moment too soon as far as Dean was concerned. This had been the crappiest start to a month ever and now he was alone in the motel room since Dad was out at a bar and Sam was off in college.

Sam… he hadn't even been gone a year yet and Dean missed him. He knew that he should give his little brother a call soon. Actually… that gave him an idea.

His brother picked up after the fourth ring. "Hello?"

"S…Sammy?" Dean made his voice sound weak.

"Dean?"

"Yeah. Need help… bleeding bad…"

"Is Dad with you?"

"No… don't… can't reach… him."

"Where are you?"

Dean grinned, but kept it out of his voice. "Don't… know… I… I can't remember… I… hunt…"

"What were you hunting, Dean? Talk to me. Maybe I can figure it out for you. Then I can help you." Dean could hear the panic in his little brother's voice.

"Hunting… I was… I don't…" He stopped talking and bit his lip to stop himself from laughing.

"Dean! Dean, man, stay with me."

"What… day… is it…"

"What? What do you mean?"

"Today… is…" Dean dropped the act and laughed. "April fool's!"

There was silence on the other end for a moment. "Jerk." Then there was a click.

"Bitch." Dean replied to the empty motel room.

**April 1****st****, 2010**

Dean poured the fake blood all over his shirt sleeve and then cradled his arm to his chest. He was so looking forwards to this. It had been forever since he'd pulled one of these on Sam. Sure the world was coming to an end and they had both Heaven and Hell against them. But what better time to have a little fun.

Dean swung the door to Bobby's house open and stumbled inside. He'd pre-warned the older hunter earlier in the day so that he wouldn't get concerned. Bobby had called him an 'idjit' but promised not to ruin the practical joke.

"Sam!" Dean growled out, stumbling forwards and into his brother's view.

"Dean! What happened?"

"They jumped me, Sam. Didn't see them until it was too late."

"Who?"

Dean shook his head. "Don't know exactly. Think they were demons. They had knives and… ah!" He doubled over, clutching his arm tighter to his chest.

"Dean, sit down. I'll get the first aid kit."

Dean sat on Bobby's couch and let out a small grunt of pain. "I tried to get the bleeding to stop."

"I don't think you succeeded." Sam commented as he stepped back into the room holding the white first aid box.

"Funny, Sam. Joke around while I bleed to death."

Sam stepped over to him and despite his flippant remark, Dean could see the concern in his little brother's eyes. "Let me see that."

Dean held his arm out and Sam pushed his 'bloody' sleeve up to reveal skin unmarked by anything except light red residue from the fake blood that had seeped through the cloth.

"What the…"

"April fool's!"

Sam stared at him for a moment before thrusting the first aid kit against Dean's chest rather hard.

"Jerk."

"Bitch." Dean laughed as his brother stormed off.

**April 1****st****, 2013**

Dean groaned as he struggled with the door to the 'batcave'. Once through, he forced himself to stay on his feet and get over to the table where Sam was studying some old book. Dean's left arm was clutched tightly to his chest in an attempt to stop the bleeding in both areas. His face was on fire and blood still ran freely from the claw marks that the crazed creature had slashed into his flesh. Dean's pace was slowed by the fact that he couldn't put any weight on his injured left leg. He was a mess and felt like crap. But if he could just reach Sam before collapsing into unconsciousness, he'd be fine. He'd made it this far on the knowledge that without his brother's help, he'd likely bleed to death if he passed out.

"Sam…" He managed to get out before dropping painfully to his knees. His vision faded out for a second and then returned, though it was somewhat fuzzy.

His younger brother glanced up at him but then returned to reading. "Funny, Dean."

What the hell? "Sam… ah! Oh, god… I…" Dean had to stop talking as a wave of dizziness hit him.

"Not falling for it, man."

"Wha…" Dean coughed and spit out a mouthful of blood.

"And I have to say, not your best performance."

"I… don't…" Dean had no clue what his brother was talking about but he wished the taller man would get up off of his ass and help him already.

"Give it up, Dean."

"Dammit, Sammy!" Dean growled out. "Help…" But that was all he got out before the world suddenly spun around him way too fast and flung him to the floor. As he hit the ground, darkness greeted him.

When Dean opened his eyes again, he was lying on his bed with a blanket draped over him. But even with the covers on, he was freezing. He glanced around the room and saw that the light was on but much too dim. Pain racked his body as he tried to move.

"Hey man, don't move." Sam's face appeared over him wearing a pathetically sad look on his face. "Just… please stay still."

"What…"

"You're hurt, Dean. Bad. I… I tried to fix you up but… oh god, Dean… I tried."

"What are you talking about?" Dean managed to ask. His face was stinging and his chest was throbbing and he was not in the mood for this crap.

"I… it was too late Dean. You're bleeding internally and I didn't realize it until too late." Dean watched as tears made their way from Sam's eyes and ran down his cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Dean. If I'd acted faster I… maybe I could've saved you."

"Saved me?" And then the meaning behind his words hit Dean. The damage was far worse than he'd thought and he was going to die. That's why he was so cold and the lights seemed so dim. No. Hell, no. He didn't want to die. Sure, he'd told Sam that he knew that he'd die with a gun in his hand, that he wouldn't live through being a hunter but he didn't want to go out like this. Killed by some random creature while the world still needed saving. While Sam still needed his help to get through the trials. He couldn't die now.

"I'm sorry, Dean." Sam hung his head but Dean could see his shoulders shaking.

"Sammy… it's not your fault." Dean groaned as a wave of pain washed over him.

"You forgive me?"

"Nothing to forgive, Sammy."

"Sure there is."

There was something way off about his brother's voice. Dean was sure that if he wasn't so cold and in so much pain that he'd be able to figure it out. "What are you talking about?"

"April fool's!" Sam called out as he looked back up at Dean. His face was split by a huge grin.

"What?" Dean blinked as his brain tried to catch up.

"You're not dying, Dean. You're pretty banged up but you'll be fine in a few days."

"But… the cold… and…" Dean was confused as all hell.

"I turned the heat off in your room. Oh, and if you're having trouble seeing it might be because I switched out your light bulb with a lower wattage one." Sam laughed. "I got you good, Dean."

Dean glared as his little brother gloated. "Not funny, Sam."

"Funnier than all the years you pranked me on this day."

"No way. I was hilarious. You're just cruel."

Sam shook his head as he continued to laugh. Dean had to admit that even though it was at his expense, it was nice to see his brother enjoying himself.

Dean fought to keep the smile off of his own face. "I'll get you back for this."

"I'll be ready."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

Sam was still chuckling as he threw a heavier blanket over his older brother and then turned to walk out of Dean's room.

"And turn the freakin' heat back on!" Dean called after him.

The older hunter shifted into a comfortable position as he closed his eyes to rest. He had a full year to plot his revenge. And next year, on April first, Sammy was going to pay. Dean smiled to himself at the thought as he drifted back to sleep.


End file.
